A Lestrange Regret
by Shikiyamachi
Summary: The war is officially over, Voldemort dead and Azkaban just a distant memory. There is just one thing left to do…


Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Co. belongs to the author, Joanne Rowling – aka JK Rowling

* * *

"Has the Daily Prophet arrived yet, little brother?" Rodolphus Lestrange lounged on an apartment bed, dark green eyes glaring at the ceiling. He never bothered glancing at the door, knowing it could be no one but his sibling. He heard the sound of bags being placed on a counter before the bed sunk down beside him.

A newspaper was placed in front of his face to the point of being blurry. He could hear the smile in his brother's soft voice when he replied, "Yes, and I got it with no trouble at all."

Rabastan moved the paper away from his sight, once again leaving the pure white ceiling in view. Sighing, Rodolphus lifted his upper half with only a few pained winces before placing his head on the others bony shoulder. He smirked for a few seconds, "Now that there's no stopping you, you should start eating more. You have yet to recover from those fifteen years in Azkaban."

He was shrugged off the shoulder, "Like you're one to talk. The only difference between us is your larger body size."

"You're not calling me fat, are you?" Rodolphus tried to joke. His brother ignored him. Instead, he turned the Daily Prophet to the backside.

The eldest brother finally looked at Rabastan's face, which was set into a usual grimace. His identical green eyes looked at him, then back to the Prophet.

Rodolphus leaned against the burgundy headboard, hands settled on top of his crossed legs. "Proceed then."

"Avery. Deceased.

Carrow, Alecto. Azkaban.

Carrow, Amycus. Azkaban.

Crabbe. Deceased.

Dolohov. Azkaban.

Greyback. Deceased.

Lestrange, Bellatrix. Deceased.

Lestrange, Rabastan. Deceased.

Lestrange, Rodolphus. Deceased.

Macnair. Deceased.

Malfoy, Draco. Exonerated.

Malfoy, Lucius. Exonerated.

Nott. Deceased.

Rookwood. Azkaban.

Rowle. Azkaban.

Yaxley. Azkaban.

There are other Death Eaters, obviously, but I figure you don't really care about them."

Both brothers slid off the bed, bodies aching in protest. The last battle had been difficult despite their dueling abilities, especially when each attack was to merely incapacitate instead of kill. Even that had been rare considering the fact that they mostly dodged any spell coming their way. Those green of color were always blocked with another spell to avoid it hitting anyone on Potter's side.

The Dark Lord had to be killed. According to their father, when he had joined his side, Voldemort had been very different. He used torture curses only when they were needed and never casted the Killing Curse. He actually had some sanity back then. Alas, there had been no turning back. Their father was forced to stay and in turn, his children.

Rodolphus watched his younger brother put away the purchased foods, his body slow and careful. It almost seemed like a dream; never had they been so at peace. And although the future was completely unknown to them, the present was here and that was good enough.

Having rested up a bit, Rodolphus explored the monthly rented apartment. It contained all they needed for the time being: one bedroom with a small closet and a bed big enough to fit two bodies, one bathroom with the essential shower, toilet, sink, and mirror, a good-sized living room with a small table for two, and finally a kitchen with stove, microwave, counters, and fridge with a small freezer.

He was uneasy using a place built by Muggles, but Rabastan reminded him that it was best being away from a wizard populated location. Rodolphus did not bother to say anything after the smart statement. He merely nodded and laid on the bed, quickly falling dead asleep.

That was this morning and three days after the Dark Lord's official demise at the hands of the Chosen One, Harry James Potter.

Already exhausted, he pulled out a chair from the small table and sat, again watching his brother who was now making lunch. Rodolphus placed an elbow on the table before resting his cheek against his hand. It was that small moment when he was glad Rabastan was a better cook; he did not have to do a thing.

When the food was placed in front of him, Rodolphus raised an eyebrow.

Rabastan sighed and sat down across from him with the same lunch. "I'm too tired to make something better. Please deal with it, big brother." He gestured toward the ham sandwiches in front of them.

Rodolphus reached over to tug a strand of black hair. The younger Lestrange scowled at him and smacked the offending hand. They then lifted their lunch and bit a piece off at the same time. The action brought small smiles to their chapped lips as they tried to remember the last time they ate together – did anything together – and came up empty. Sad.

When they were finished, Rabastan took each dish to the sink and swiftly washed them before returning to his seat.

Rodolphus decided to speak first, his deep voice loud in the otherwise silent apartment. "So the main Death Eaters are either dead or in Azkaban. The others would be a waste of our time. As for Lucius and his son… what do you think?"

"I read the small article about them. Apparently they were pardoned from their crimes because they defected at the end of the war. Lucius always did think of his family before the Dark Lord, so I am not _too_ surprised. The interesting thing is that Narcissa and Draco both had the chance to sell out Potter, but chose not to. This I am shocked about; it takes a lot of courage to defy the Dark Lord." Rabastan lifted a hand to his head and gripped some hair, "I sometimes wish our Father defied him… because then we never would have had to go through such torture."

It was silent after that. Rodolphus was unsure how to comfort him. They were close, but when it came to comfort, they had no clue what to do. Most of their life, comfort would have always been seen as a weakness, something neither could afford to show in front of other dark wizards.

It was different now… "Think of the present Rabastan. Voldemort is dead, forever this time. He will not be returning, not to mention the Wizarding World believes we are dead. We can start a new life."

Rabastan released his hair, chuckling. "Comforting me, are you?"

"Then how about this, 'You're being stupid, now get over it and enjoy the time we have left in the living world.'" Rodolphus did not bother to hide his smile.

His brother grinned in response. "Sorry, but I liked that one. It almost sounded like the real Rodolphus Lestrange."

The eldest Lestrange reached over to gently cuff Rabastan on the forehead. "You little brat."

After a few more laughs, Rabastan gazed passed a window. "About Bellatrix… I'm sor–"

"Don't." The older focused out the same window. "I know it was never widely known, but the marriage between her and I was an arranged one. Truthfully, I am happy the witch is dead. Not only was she insane, she was madly in love with that monster. It is a better world without her kind polluting it." And he meant it. Rodolphus was also relieved an heir was never written into the contract. The idea of sex with Bellatrix was an absolute nightmare.

Rabastan decided to stay silent on the subject, especially when it only brought memories of _that_ incident.

One of their greatest regrets… he wanted to forget about it until it was time to go.

He quickly dropped the thought to think about their escape. "Well, it is a relief to know the Wizarding World believes we are six feet under. Being on the run is very taxing."

Rabastan remembered back, before they headed to the battle at Hogwarts. In the off-chance things went in favor of the light side, they decided to create two Polyjuice Potions, one with his hair and the other with Rodolphus'. Yet, in all honesty, the making of the potion was their glimmer of hope; deep inside, they had doubted the Dark Lord would lose. They fully expected the rest of their lives to be in cruel servitude.

When Potter was hit with the killing curse, that glimmer of hope was lost. They were about to throw the Polyjuice to the ground when to their surprise, Neville Longbottom came charging at Voldemort in a fit of courage. Rabastan had looked over at his brother, wanting to stop the Dark Lord from harming the boy. He was frustrated when Rodolphus nodded his head in refusal.

And so, Rabastan fitfully watched Voldemort situate the Sorting Hat on Longbottom's head and set it on fire. He had clenched his hands into fists by then, until soon after, Longbottom broke the spell and pulled a magnificent sword from the hat, decapitating Voldemort's damn snake. Seeing the act, Rabastan had felt his chest swell with what he could now recognize as admiration. Admiration for so many reasons, but mostly because the young man had been brave enough, powerful enough, to defy Voldemort and kill his familiar in front of him with no hesitation. Something Rabastan could have only dreamed of doing.

Then everything had become chaos. Everyone began fighting, curses and defense spells thrown again and again with some killing curses added into the mix. From then on it was fighting here and there, meanwhile trying to stay beside Rodolphus.

Rodolphus had taken his hand when Potter's name was yelled out along with the heavenly word 'alive'. They used the confrontation between Potter and Voldemort to their advantage and grabbed two lower Death Eaters. It was easy forcing Polyjuice down their throats and killing them once the transformation had finished. Easy to slip from the crowd of Death Eaters and Hogwarts students. So easy to get far away from the battlefield of magic, war, and death. And extremely easy to smile at the distant cheers in celebration of Voldemort's death.

Reviewing it all brought a glisten to Rabastan's eyes.

Suddenly there was a hand on his cheek. Rabastan gazed away from the window and to his brother who was standing and dressed. As he studied the new appearance, Rabastan wondered how he got so distracted to never notice his brother stand and already prepare to leave to their intended destination.

Rodolphus had pulled his long crimson hair into a ponytail which lay over his broad shoulder. He wore muggle clothing: a regular black tee shirt, dark blue jeans and black boots. His Wizard robes were folded in his arms.

Rodolphus was frowning in concern, "What are you thinking, Rabastan?"

Rabastan wiped his damp eyes and stood up, posture straight and dignified – a few inches shorter than Rodolphus – then walked to the bathroom. It was warm in the Muggle World today; having his hair down had been a mistake the first time around. Sighing, Rabastan brushed back his shoulder-length hair, lifted it, then reached passed a few hair ties for a hairclip, and clipped it onto his gathered strands. His shorter tresses at the front slid out of the bind to fall forward with his bangs, framing his aristocratic face.

He walked to the bedroom closet and grabbed his own neatly folded robes. Returning to his brother, Rabastan bowed his head, answering the question. "Remembering the battle and… and the Longbottom teenager." He sighed before looking at his brother with a grimace, "Are you sure we should do this, I mean, out of anyone still alive, we have the least privilege. We may not have participated, but we didn't stop it either."

Rodolphus replied without hesitation. He seemed to have already thought of the same thing. "We regret the fact that neither of us stopped it. We need closure, little brother. And maybe with what we have created, perhaps we could start to forgive ourselves."

Rabastan immediately pushed himself into the taller male's chest, wrapping emaciated arms around his torso in a tight embrace. Despite his harsh life, Rabastan was never scared to show weakness in front of his brother. In fact, it was probably the only thing that had been keeping him away from insanity like his dead sister-in-law.

They remained in the desperate hold for quite some time, their shallow breaths filling the dead silence.

* * *

Before apparating, Rodolphus and Rabastan spelled a disguising charm upon themselves. Well known in Wizarding Britain, this was the best way of staying unnoticed. Now Rodolphus was slim with brown hair and hazel eyes, wearing his dark blue robes. Rabastan went for the opposite direction, now a young female with blonde hair and hazel eyes, dark red robes hiding the boyish-clothing.

Entering St. Mungo's Hospital, Rodolphus wound his arm around Rabastan's. The Welcome Witch glanced up with a blank look and straightened with a smile when she saw Rodolphus. Her voice was sickening sweet, "How may I help you, Sir?"

Rabastan was quick in response, "My brother and I would like to know where the Longbottoms are rooming. If you could hurry, we would like to get there some time soon." He gave his own sweet smile.

As the woman checked a list – sneering behind the board – Rodolphus squeezed their arms, bending his head to whisper in his disguised brother's ear. "Touchy, aren't we?"

Rabastan scowled, "She should be acting professional. People who visit here are to see their loved ones who are unconscious, hurt, or dying. They do not come to find a date." Although he wanted to yell it out, Rabastan made sure his voice was hushed to near silence.

The older Lestrange rolled his eyes. It was a few minutes before the woman answered, "They are placed in Ward 49 on the fourth floor."

Rodolphus bowed his head to her, "We thank you, young miss." He quietly scoffed when she replied, stuttering with a red face. Ignoring her, Rodolphus pulled Rabastan towards their destination. He noticed Rabastan slightly turning his head to stick his tongue at the woman. He shook his head, "That was mature of you, little _sister_."

"Oh, belt up."

The walk to the Longbottoms room was silent and incredibly tense after that.

Rodolphus remembered the day quite well; especially since it had been the reason they were jailed in Azkaban. While Voldemort had gone to the Potter family's home, he and Rabastan, along with Bellatrix and Crouch, were ordered to take care of the Longbottom family in any way necessary. Rodolphus hated the thought of killing a child, let alone a baby who was completely innocent and defenseless. When they had invaded the home, he stayed at the front entrance.

Rabastan stayed behind as well, not only because he hated having to kill an infant, but also because he did everything his older brother did, regardless of whether the act was good or bad. So, he had stood by his brother to listen as Bellatrix and Crouch cast the Cruciatus Curse upon Frank and Alice Longbottom. Bellatrix had continued the attack, while Crouch searched for Neville Longbottom. But the infant had been absent from the home.

They had left unsuccessful, leaving the Longbottoms insane on the floor.

By the time they were caught, both Rodolphus and Rabastan had no desire to resist. Voldemort had been killed; they could have saved the Longbottoms without worrying about the Dark Lord's fury. They never would have been placed in Azkaban either, since they would have been long gone.

Every shift the Dementors worked cost them a great deal of sleep. If one of them closed their eyes, the Longbottoms were there to curse them. And other times, begging for help that would never come. When they did sleep, their dreams would always be restless and horrifying.

The two brothers had never screamed as much as they did back in Azkaban.

* * *

It seemed like forever to reach the Longbottoms' room. The brothers had never felt as nervous as they did now, walking into the room of Alice and Frank. They knew the trip would not garner an accusing response from the couple, but parts of them would feel better if they could.

Alice Longbottom was fiddling with some kind of paper, while her husband stared at nothing. The sight was disturbing to Rodolphus, who had gone to Hogwarts with these two. He had seen them grow, and was there to see them get together. They smiled, laughed, cheered, and fought for those who could not.

But now…

Rodolphus frowned solemnly. These two were better off dead as they currently were. The pain their son must have been feeling his entire life, his parents there but not actually _there_... it was heartbreaking. And it was _his_ fault. He had been a coward, too scared to fight for the innocent little brother he once had. He had been scared of dying, of Bellatrix and her insanity, of Voldemort's punishments, of everything. And what did cowardice give him and Rabastan? A life not lived.

They never had a childhood. They never had friends. They never had freedom. They had nothing, and even now, while they did have freedom, they also had guilt and far too many regrets. They hoped this visit would be the start of a new life.

Rabastan and Rodolphus walked into the room, closing the door behind them and sitting in-between the two beds. Neither Frank nor Alice reacted to them, even when the magic changing their appearances disappeared. While they knew nothing would happen, the brothers still felt something break inside them. Rabastan gripped Alice's hand and then Rodolphus', Rodolphus taking Frank's hand and tightening the hold on Rabastan's trembling one. Finally the Lestrange brothers got a reaction.

Alice dropped the paper when Rabastan held her hand. She looked at him with blank eyes before smiling, her chocolate gaze suddenly softening with motherly concern. Something inside her told Alice to comfort the man in front of her, and without any thought, reached out and petted soft black hair. Her mouth opened, quietly cooing out garbled words.

Rabastan closed his watery green eyes and wept, no longer able to hold in his tears. He barely remembered Alice from when he began Hogwarts, but he could clearly remember her screams; her cries for her son, and her begging for the pain to stop. As the woman continued her petting, Rabastan cried harder. Her motherly touch was too much for him, him who never had a loving mother to hold him and tell him that everything would be okay.

His mother was cold and unfeeling, never touching Rabastan unless required to. She cared only for herself. Not for him and not for Rodolphus.

Biting his lip, the youngest Lestrange glanced at his big brother. Rodolphus wept silently, darkened eyes staring at Alice with an unfamiliar, vulnerable look. Rabastan followed his stare, tears continuing to slide down his cheeks. She was still speaking with a smile, gaze seeing but not recognizing. As much as it hurt him, Rabastan released Rodolphus' hand and hugged Alice, face burying into her neck and wetting the skin with warm tears. She quietened before returning the embrace, running her fingers through strands of hair that fell from its confines. Rabastan's body quivered from his sobs as he tightened his hold, gasping out apologies.

Rodolphus looked away then, unable to watch his brother's breakdown, only to see Frank. The man was watching Rodolphus with childlike curiosity. He peeked at Alice before reaching out with his free hand and imitating her, running his fingers through Rodolphus' crimson tresses. The older Lestrange allowed the touch, teary eyes closing in response.

The brothers wished _this_ was forgiveness. That maybe deep down, Alice and Frank had recognized them, and had forgiven them. Yet, they would be fooling themselves. The Longbottoms never saw them with Bellatrix and Crouch. Only during battle had the couple ever laid eyes on them, as Rodolphus and Rabastan had been of the few that fought without masks. After all, why conceal your face when you are already a known Death Eater.

Eyes still closed, Rodolphus began speaking about his and Rabastan's life, ending with the defeat of Voldemort. Rabastan joined him once he calmed down but never removed himself from Alice's side. Rodolphus felt the tension in his shoulders slowly lessen as he remembered the Longbottom attack, finally able to confess the regret and self-hate that developed for not stopping Bellatrix and Crouch, and the guilt, knowing the young Longbottom would be void of loving parents.

As Rodolphus spilled their shared feelings, Rabastan wondered what was worse. Being separated from your parents through Death, like Harry Potter, or having your parents alive but unable to recognize you, like Neville Longbottom. Both situations sounded awful, but actually, Rabastan preferred a lack of parents rather than the mother and father he ended up with. Those kids had a choice. Rabastan did not.

When Rabastan found himself praising Neville's bravery in the final battle, something shocking happened.

On Rodolphus' right, Frank began clapping, Neville's name able to be heard throughout jumbled sentences. Next to Rabastan, Alice began weeping. The tears slid down her reddened cheeks and dripped from her chin as she mumbled the same phrase over and over, "So Neville proud, so Neville proud, so Neville proud, so Neville proud..."

Rabastan continued, once again hugging the older women to his chest. He was unable to describe what he felt as she said the same mantra all the way until Voldemort's demise at the hand of Harry Potter. Rodolphus tried to put a name on his emotions as well, missing Frank's touch on his hair but enjoying his childlike excitement. If there was one thing the Lestrange brothers were not expecting, it was Alice and Frank recognizing their son's name.

The brothers stayed until both Longbottoms were asleep. Rabastan gently removed himself from Alice's side and stood beside Rodolphus, watching her and Frank's peaceful expressions. Almost like death, if not for the rise and fall of their torsos. He grasped his big brother's hand and looked up at him with red eyes, "It's time." Rabastan then covered his face with Rodolphus' arm, closing his eyes tightly.

Rodolphus swallowed quietly, his throat dry from speaking for so long. One last tear escaped his right eye as he shakily took hold of his wand and pointed. "We really are sorry, Frank. Alice. May you soon be happy."

* * *

Neville Longbottom rushed into St. Mungo's Hospital, several of his friends following behind. The healer in charge of his parent's care had sent a letter requesting an immediate appointment, noting it as an emergency. The second he received the letter, Neville ran.

He ignored everything around him; passing groups of people and sometimes accidently pushing others aside just to reach his parent's room. Behind him, Hermione apologized for him while trying to catch up. She was followed by her two best friends, as well as Luna, Ginny, and Hannah. Many others had been present when the letter arrived unexpectedly, but before anyone could ask Neville about the letter, the man ran. Only those closest to Neville had followed him, and were quite surprised – and worried – when he led them to the hospital.

Neville finally reached his parents room and stopped. Standing in front of the door was Healer Miriam Strout and a mediwizard he had never met before. He was older than the healer, but still had that soft look that could be considered fatherly. "Neville Longbottom, yes?"

Neville nodded, a bit startled when others joined his side. He glanced at them for a moment, and then looked at the mediwizard once more. He and Strout were watching him with confusing expressions, as if they were unsure of what to do now that Neville stood in front of them. He wrung his hands together, "My... my parents...?" When they turned to each other, Neville grew apprehensive.

"Last night, your parents..." The mediwizard stopped himself and shook his head. "Actually, I think it'd be best to just come in. Your friends..."

Neville looked over at the small group. They were all concerned, and even that glazed look in Luna's eyes was practically gone. And yet, the last thing he needed was them present. After all the tears he had seen and spilt himself, he would rather them not see any more tragedy. And really, what else could Neville expect but his parents in the arms of death. So many had died, and now his parents... "I would like to be alone, please."

There was no protest when Harry nodded, "We'll be here when you're done."

"Thank you." They walked down the hall to the sitting area, but not before smiling warmly at Neville.

Neville followed the two healers into his parent's room, his heart pounding so violently he thought he would die at any moment. The first thing Neville saw was his mother and father, laying on their beds with eyes closed, and just that sight brought tears to his eyes. He closed his eyes and sobbed, covering his mouth to quiet the sound of grief. His whole body seemed to weigh a ton as he shook, and his legs wobbled dangerously.

He heard a shocked gasp, and then felt soft hands cover his cheeks. "Neville, honey, please open your eyes. It's alright, please, Neville, just open your eyes and look."

The reassuring tone of Strout's voice gave Neville the courage to open his eyes, though he did not expect anything to be alright. Until he noticed an important detail...

His parents were breathing.

Neville was so confused. Strout smiled at him with tears in her own eyes, but if not because of his parent's death, then why was she crying? Strout directed him towards the middle of their beds, "When I checked on them last night, they were sleeping. And when I woke them up, well... I think I witnessed a miracle."

"A-A miracle...?" Neville stared at his parents, and without a second thought, he called out for them. "Mum? Dad?"

His mother opened her eyes first. She sat up, looking up at Neville in confusion. His father sat up as well, first directing his attention to Strout. The healer stepped forward to stand beside Neville and smiled up at him. "Alice, Frank. This is your son, Neville."

Neville waited for that unbearable moment when his parents would merely glimpse at his face before ignoring him.

The moment never came.

His mother and father both gasped loudly, looking between Strout and Neville. Then, something seemed to click. Neville was suddenly engulfed by two sets of arms, one pair tighter than the other. He heard his mother's voice, and for the first time he could remember, she spoke coherently. "Oh, Neville. I can't believe it's you."

His father was shaking as he said, "We're so sorry, son."

Neville was still as he listened. When they pulled back, all Neville could see were the appearances he only recognized from pictures. His mum was smiling so wide that her chocolate eyes were squinted. His dad was much the same, smiling brightly with tears gathering around his tear ducts. His mum, however, was outright sobbing.

All Neville could do was collapse into their arms once more, bawling out their names and speaking so fast he no longer knew what he was saying. His parents just listened, not understanding but not having the heart to stop their son. Alice ran her fingers through Neville's short hair, humming quietly until Neville was left speechless, gasping and hiccupping. Frank rubbed his son's back, giving the love he had been unable to provide since Neville was a baby.

Frank and Alice had been devastated when the healer explained everything, about the attack sixteen years ago and their resulting condition, and about Neville, who would often visit them knowing they would never be able to recognize him as their little boy. Their little boy who was forced to live out an entire war by himself, with no mum or dad to comfort him each time someone else died. Their little boy who had to grow up before he could even be a child. Merlin, they had missed so much, and the healer only knew what the public knew. What else did they not know about their own son?

An entire hour passed with the family of three refusing to release each other, cuddled together on one bed. Neville shared as much as he could in that short period of time. Then, as the two healers returned to the room, having gone to share the news with his friends, Neville asked the question he desperately wanted to know. "How is this possible?"

His parents were curious as well and waited. The mediwizard shook his head, "I apologize, but... we are unsure. As much as I would like to believe it to be a miracle, we know there is no such thing. However..."

Frank encouraged him, "Yes?"

"There was a note on the door held by a sticking charm. It meant nothing to either I or Miriam, but it may mean something to one of you three." He removed a piece of paper from inside his robes and handed it to Neville. Alice and Frank listened as he read it aloud.

_Apologies mean nothing.  
Actions mean everything.  
We do not expect forgiveness,  
But we do expect your happiness.  
With love  
ЯLR Sibs  
__**:**__post scriptum__**:**__  
nullus plus doloris  
right flick, strike down, gently up  
~you have to mean it~_

As Neville finished reading, Frank and Alice remembered silky black and crimson hair and wet faces filled with such unspeakable sorrow.

"_Nullus plus doloris."_

"_Goodbye, Alice. Frank."_

And looking at each other, they brought Neville into the tightest hug possible.

_We do forgive you, Rodolphus. Rabastan. Wherever you are, be happy as well. Thank you so much._

* * *

Rodolphus and Rabastan packed what they had and glancing back at their apartment room that housed them for two months. Since the Daily Prophet article, detailing Frank and Alice's 'shocking' recovery, the Lestrange brothers had never been happier. Nothing held them back now.

"Are you ready to leave, Rodolphus?" Rabastan tilted his head in a questioning manner. His big brother had been in a quiet mood since they healed the Longbottoms with the spell they had created. Voldemort had benefitted from their family due to the Lestrange spell-making legacy. Creating a spell to negate the Cruciatus Curse was child's play compared to the destructive spells he and Rodolphus had invented. And in Rabastan's opinion, the healing spell was the most successful.

Rodolphus closed the door and smiled. "Know where we're going?" He wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders and started walking.

"Well, I've always wanted to go to Hawaii. But~ I know you're a big fan of Russia and Japan."

Pondering for a moment, Rodolphus decided. "Hawaii first. Maybe there we'll finally get a tan."

Rabastan laughed. "Hopefully."

Yes, this was the beginning of a new life.


End file.
